


Everything I Tell You, and Nothing But

by spacekc929



Series: Dennie's Rules for Wade [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Anxiety, BDSM, Corporal Punishment, Daddy Kink, Daddy/boy relationship, Discipline, M/M, Misunderstandings, Paddling, Power Exchange, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacekc929/pseuds/spacekc929
Summary: A Daddy Dom bartender sees a downtrodden boy with relationship issues in his bar and offers to take him home for the night. Said downtrodden boy would deny that he's a boy at all, of course, and said boy isn't exactly very good at submitting...
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Dennie's Rules for Wade [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861339
Comments: 3
Kudos: 90





	Everything I Tell You, and Nothing But

Wade was back tonight again. And alone, tonight, again.

Dennie mindlessly wiped a wet cloth across the bar; he’d already cleaned this same spot four or five times to see if Wade planned on ordering anything. But he didn’t, and no one approached him either, despite his green bracelet announcing that he was open for business. Wade listlessly stared at some knot on the wood in front of him.

When Wade’s stupor went on for more than ten minutes, Dennie finally leaned down on his elbows and asked, “Christ, kid, what did the bar ever do to you?” Wade jerked his head up, giving Dennie an unimpeded view of his buggy brown eyes and puffy, dimpled cheeks. Wade’s tawny skin was flushed with surprise. He must have been pretty out of it not to have realized Dennie was there.

“S-sorry, Mr. Henderson, sir. Am I bringing down the mood? I’ll sit somewhere else.” Wade moved to get up, but Dennie shot his hand out to grasp Wade’s wrist before he could think better of it. Wade’s limb was delicate and breakable inside of Dennie’s strong grip. Dennie had big hands—the kids in elementary school had nicknamed him Jumbo because of their size, and the name stuck—and his palms were roughened by a life of labor. At forty-six years old, the back of his fists, which had been white through his childhood and most of his adulthood, were starting to sprout liver spots and funny, out-of-place hairs. Dennie liked using these hands on boys—even ones as notoriously difficult as Wade supposedly was.

“You don’t need to move, kid.” Dennie released Wade, who settled back onto the stool—not looking relaxed, exactly, but not about to bolt anymore either. “Sorry I startled you. Let me get you a drink, on the house. Whatever you want.” Dennie didn’t need to check Wade’s ID anymore—Wade had been coming to this bar since he was twenty-six, so he must have been thirty-one or thirty-two by this point.

Wade rubbed at the wrist that Dennie had just arrested, looking thoughtful. “Can I have a lemonade?” he asked, biting his bottom lip with his upper teeth.

“Sure thing. And you just let me know if you need something stronger, little one. I can only serve you alcohol for another half hour.”

Wade shrugged, narrow shoulders nearly bumping into his too-large ears. “I don’t really drink.”

“Ah, I forgot—you’ve told me that before. Good for you,” said Dennie, meaning it. He poured a glass of lemonade and set it in front of the boy, who immediately tipped it back and drank half of it in a single gulp. Dennie tapped the top of Wade’s head and pulled the cup out of his hands. “Kid, you need to slow down or you’ll make yourself sick.”

Wade looked chagrined. “I guess I was just thirsty.”

Dennie thought it was more likely anxiety. “It’s alright.” Dennie pulled a straw from underneath the bar and put it in the glass, then held it out to Wade. When Wade made to take the glass, Dennie tutted and shook his head. “I’ll hold onto this. You just take a few sips now, boy.”

Wade moved forward as if he planned to obey, but at the last second, he pulled back. His flush became more pronounced. “Sir, um. I can’t. I can’t do this with you.”

“Why not?” Dennie asked. When Wade said nothing else, Dennie pushed the glass towards Wade’s mouth and insinuated the straw between his lips. “Drink your lemonade like a good boy.”

Wade shook his head. The movement dislodged the straw, which clattered to the bar. “I can’t. I’m not a good boy. You know that. Everyone here knows that.”

Dennie sighed and set the lemonade off to the side. “Wade, where’s Stefan? Is he with you tonight?”

Stefan Molyneux was Wade’s latest Dom. He’d picked Wade up from the very barstool on which Wade’s bum was currently perched, and Stefan brought Wade back a lot—never to the bar though, but to the basement. Dennie had been able to hear Wade’s screams from here. He didn’t much like Stefan.

Before Stefan had been Gerald. Before Gerald had been Henry. Before Henry had been… well, it got a little fuzzy, Dennie had to admit, the further back in time he went. Maybe it was Thomas? (Thomas Etheridge, not Thomas Hylock, who was as subby a sub who’d ever subbed.)

“I don’t know. We broke up.”

Dennie had sort of figured. “How come, sweetheart?”

Wade screwed up his mouth into a grimace, either from the endearment or the subject matter or both. “It just didn’t work out, I guess.”

That’s what Wade had also said about Gerald, Henry, Thomas, and the rest of the veritable harem of Doms with whom he’d unsuccessfully tried to match. Dennie had heard all the gossip at the bar—Wade was cute enough, most everyone said, but hard to read and all twisted up inside with anxiety, so he was a difficult play partner. Stefan had gone a lot further than any of the other Doms had: no one else had felt much comfortable with impact play, given Wade’s tendency to dissociate and gaze blankly off into the distance instead of safewording when his limits were reached. So the others treated him mainly as a service submissive, from what Dennie could gather, but said Wade didn’t seem to get much from that.

“Stefan was hard on you,” Dennie remarked, hoping it sparked a retort.

“Not really.” Bingo. “He just treated me like he treats all his subs.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t have,” Dennie countered. “You have different needs than his other subs had.”

Wade shrugged, fidgeting with a coaster on the bar between his index finger and thumb. “I don’t know,” Wade said, seemingly just to fill the empty space.

“I have an idea. Let me take you home after I finish this shift. Yes, to _my_ home,” Dennie added at Wade’s shocked expression.

“Sir! You know I’m not…”

“You’re not what?”

“Well, you’re, I mean. Aren’t you a Daddy Dom?”

“Sure am.”

Wade shifted uncomfortably on his stool. “I’m not a boy.”

Dennie reached over to take Wade’s hand again—this time to give it a soothing rub, rather than to capture him. Dennie had been of the opinion for a while that Wade was a boy in denial, but it wasn't the right time to bring it up. “That’s alright, dear,” Dennie mollified. “I’ll be pure Dom tonight. And if I ever inch too close to Daddy and make you uncomfortable, you'll have your safewords.”

“Sir…” Wade pulled his hand away and hugged his arms around his chest. “I’m not very good at any of this. I’ve sort of managed to fuck up with over a dozen potential Doms from this bar alone, and, well, I like talking to you when I come in. I don’t want you to start disliking me too after all is said and done.” Wade’s eyes widened and he added hastily, “Not that I’m assuming you like me now or anything.”

That surprised a chuckle out of Dennie. “Sweetheart, you can and should be making that assumption. I don’t just invite home every downtrodden little boy who comes to my bar, you know.”

Wade laughed weakly, but was plainly wracked with nerves. 

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Dennie assured. “I know you have a difficult time with your submission. I’m not expecting perfection. I can promise you I’ll still like you in the morning.” Dennie said the last sentence with a cheeky grin.

“Just…” Wade looked around at the dwindling crowd. “You should keep your expectations _really_ low.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Dennie rejoined. “I won’t have a single expectation. Except one: I expect you to be yourself.”

Wade did not seem a bit reassured, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why: Wade didn’t know who he was, nor did he have a clue how to be whoever it was that he was.

* * *

Wade had always liked Dennis Henderson. He’d been the bartender at Frau Lick for as long as Wade had been going there—what was it, six years now? Wade liked that Mr. Henderson was kind to him whenever Wade came in, even though he’d undoubtedly heard all the bar gossip about what a piss-poor submissive Wade was.

Every time he broke up with another Dom, Wade thought, this time he’d stop coming back to Frau Lick for good; he’d finally leave behind this awful bar, where the good Doms gave him wary grin/grimaces and backed away slowly and the bad Doms smirked at him like he was a little mouse caught in their rattrap. But there wasn’t another BDSM bar for miles, and Wade couldn’t really afford a membership at any of the more exclusive clubs, and ultimately, as bad at submitting as Wade was, it was still a part of him. He’d tried to live vanilla for a couple years after parting ways with his first long-term partner—Mr. Crenshaw—but that had been even more of a disaster than his relationship with Mr. Crenshaw had been.

Perhaps an additional reason he kept going back was the kindness in the bartender’s pine-tree-green eyes.

But Mr. Henderson had never seemed interested in Wade _like that_. Mr. Henderson was a Daddy Dom. Wade had observed Mr. Henderson openly dating a few different boys—ones that were far cuter and more polite and more engaged than Wade had ever been, even back when he’d thought he’d been a boy. So of course he’d never had a reason to show interest in Wade before. Wade honestly couldn’t figure out why he was showing interest now, either.

Mr. Henderson wasn’t going to be a Daddy tonight, though, Wade reminded himself. So he didn’t need to worry about measuring up to Mr. Henderson’s past boys—the comparison was apples and oranges. (And Mr. Henderson surely wouldn’t find out what a selfish, useless boy Wade had been before, so there was no need to worry about that.)

Wade waited around on the stool while Mr. Henderson closed up; his legs swung back and forth in an uncontrollable rhythm. On one bounce, his foot hit the front of the bar with a loud but painless thump. Mr. Henderson looked up from the cash register and raised his eyebrow. “S-sorry.”

“Keep still,” Mr. Henderson ordered.

Wade felt a rush of _rightness_ , the same one he always felt when a dominant man gave him a command. He stopped fidgeting and earned himself a pleased nod, which sent tendrils of pride through him.

Wade sat and observed quietly for a few moments as Mr. Henderson finished counting the till and cleaning up behind the bar. Mr. Henderson then walked over to one of the booths, where a regular, Terry, was drooling on the table. Terry was a Dom, and Wade had played with him a few times, but that hadn’t worked out. Wade could hear snatches of the conversation from across the room—‘too drunk’ and ‘far away’ and ‘going to call a taxi.’ Wade then saw Mr. Henderson stick his hand into his jeans pocket, only to furrow his eyebrows and pull out an empty hand.

Wade surveyed the bar and there it was—Mr. Henderson’s cell phone was sitting over by the register. Wade was far closer than Mr. Henderson was, so he vaulted easily over the bar and picked up the phone, and then came back out onto the floor through the lift gate. Mr. Henderson was already halfway there so Wade scurried up to him to hold the phone out promptly, feeling as useful as a million bucks to be able to do this one small thing for Mr. Henderson after sitting like a lump on the stool the whole night.

Mr. Henderson took the phone from Wade, stared at it for a moment, and then smiled. “Wade, that was very kind of you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. But did I tell you you could leave your barstool?”

A cold chill swept through Wade. This was how it always went, didn’t it? Wade never made the right call. He’d disobeyed before they’d even left the building, for Christ’s sake! That must be some kind of record. And right after he’d just thought to himself how much he liked being obedient, too. So much for that. Dear God. Wade lowered his eyes to the floor and wrung his hands; he couldn’t think of an adequate response at this point.

“Go sit back down, please. I’ll be there in just a few minutes once I’ve finished dealing with Terry. Remember my order—keep still.”

Wade woodenly returned to his seat. He’d known this was an ill-advised endeavor, agreeing to go home with Mr. Henderson. He wouldn’t be able to get through this one night without ruining their already meager acquaintanceship.

He heard Mr. Henderson call the taxi and heard Terry muttering some gibberish and heard when Mr. Henderson helped Terry stand and walked him outside, but Wade didn’t look this time. Wade sat as still as he possibly could, so still that maybe if someone were to walk by they’d think he was a statue that the Frau Lick management had put on a barstool as some sort of hipster art exhibit. He heard Mr. Henderson’s returning footsteps: his gait was always loud and unabashed, his combat boots announcing his presence wherever he went. Out of the corner of his eye, Wade saw Mr. Henderson sit on the stool next to him.

“I’m so sorry!” Wade blurted before Mr. Henderson could say anything. It took all of Wade’s effort not to turn his head. “I was stupid. I forgot your order.” Then another horrible thought occurred. “Oh God. I’m moving my mouth. This isn’t stillness either. Shit.”

“Relax. No more need to keep still. Look at me, dear.”

Wade turned a bit so that his body was more oriented towards Mr. Henderson, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn all the way or to meet Mr. Henderson eyes. He picked at one of his hangnails and waited for the verdict.

But Mr. Henderson wasn’t having that. He grasped Wade’s biceps and bodily turned him the rest of the way, then lifted up his chin with one of his huge, sexy hands and forced him to make eye contact. “Wade. I wasn’t lying before. It was very sweet of you to think of grabbing my phone for me. I’m not angry with you for taking initiative. Far from it.”

Wade had to acknowledge to himself that Mr. Henderson didn’t seem very angry.

“I reiterate that my problem is not that you took initiative and did a thoughtful thing for me,” Mr. Henderson continued. “I also want to make sure you understand that you weren’t being stupid. The contours of my order weren’t clear, and for that I apologize. You’re certainly not in any trouble.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Wade mumbled, not sure if he was happy to have avoided a punishment or sad that Mr. Henderson didn’t think he was worth giving one to. “I should still have obeyed.”

“I’m not talking about excuses; I’m talking about explanations. Explain to me why you went to get my phone, in your own words.”

Wade shrugged, but Mr. Henderson’s stern look indicated that that wasn’t going to cut it. “Um, I just thought it would be faster for you if I got it,” Wade muttered. It wasn’t really a good answer in hindsight—Mr. Henderson would have reached the bar himself fifteen seconds later. “And I thought… I just wanted to be useful,” Wade forced himself to add, even though it was embarrassing to reveal. “I wanted you to be pleased with me. Obviously I cocked that up. I forgot all about keeping still. I’m really sorry. I’ll head home now—”

“Stop.” Mr. Henderson placed his index finger over Wade’s lips. “That’s what I thought. You did it because you wanted to make me happy. That’s not wrong. It pleases me greatly that you want to make me happy. But Wade, the problem here is that it doesn’t make me happy for you to decide on your own how you can be useful and pleasing when I’ve already told you what I want from you.”

“I know,” Wade said against Mr. Henderson’s finger. “I’m sorr—”

“See? You’re doing it again. My finger isn’t here for decoration. It’s there to tell you that I don’t want you to talk right now. If I had wanted an apology, I would have asked for it.”

This was impossible. Wade couldn’t do this. “Mr. Henderson, this is a waste of time.” Wade was aware that Mr. Henderson still hadn’t removed his finger but it wouldn’t be fair to let Mr. Henderson take him home without explaining something really important first. “I can’t do this. Surely it’s obvious to you that I’m no good at obeying! This isn’t worth it for you.”

Mr. Henderson did draw his hand back at that point. “You are an interesting little sub,” Mr. Henderson remarked. “I’m glad I invited you over. You have permission to speak going forward, but you’ll get a small punishment tonight for talking out of turn just now once we get back to my place. Is spanking one of your hard limits?”

“N-no, sir.”

“And your safewords?”

“Just the stoplight system,” Wade responded quietly.

“Perfect. Thank you for telling me.” Mr. Henderson stood up and pulled Wade off the stool and to his feet as well. “I promise, boy, that if you follow my orders to the letter tonight you can never go wrong. There’s no need to guess or wonder at what I _might_ want you to do. If I want you to do it, I’ll tell you to do it. And if I don’t tell you to do it, then don’t do it.”

Easier said than done, Wade thought bitterly as Mr. Henderson led him out of the bar. But relief overwhelmed his distress over Mr. Henderson’s impossible mandates: a spanking was on the way, and for now, at least, Mr. Henderson still thought he was worth spending some time on.

* * *

Wade was a skittish little thing. Dennie opened the passenger door of his car and gestured Wade to get in, and he did, and then Wade reached for his seatbelt, only to shove his hands back in his lap, stammering out apologies.

It broke Dennie’s heart. The poor kid was both so eager to please and so frightened of being wrong. “I should have clarified,” Dennie said gently. “You never need to wait for my permission to put on your seatbelt, or to take any other safety measures for yourself at any point or time.”

Wade nodded gratefully and clicked his seatbelt shut. Dennie stroked Wade’s hair, hoping it would relax him. Wade startled, though, and then looked up at Dennie like he was an alien. “Is touching your hair one of your hard limits?” Dennie asked.

“Um…no…”

“Then why are you staring at me like I’ve committed some heinous social faux pas?” Dennie asked. He didn’t remove his hand from Wade’s hair—he liked how the soft, slightly-curly black hair slid through his fingers.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“Did I ask for you to say sorry, or did I ask for you to explain why you’re uncomfortable with me touching your hair?”

Wade flushed with embarrassment. “I’m not uncomfortable,” he said, but it didn’t sound very convincing.

“Wade.” Dennie tightened his grip a bit—enough to tease Wade with the possibility of a rougher pull, but not enough to hurt just yet. “Part of doing everything I say means answering my questions honestly.”

“I don’t… I really don’t want to talk about it, sir.”

Dennie released his grip and petted him a few times to show he was forgiven. “I understand. That’s alright. Thank you for being honest with me.” Dennie released him then, closed Wade’s door, and got into the driver’s seat.

Dennie only lived a few minutes from the bar, so the drive, though silent and awkward, was thankfully over quickly. His house was at the tip of a dead-end residential road, and though the physical building wasn’t big, Dennie had a decent amount of space between himself and his neighbors, plus a large yard with a bit of forest in the back. It suited him. “Home sweet home,” Dennie said for no reason other than it felt like it was on him as the dominant partner to break the tension.

“It’s, um. Very nice.”

Wade made no move to remove his seatbelt, which Dennie thought was curious; hadn’t he just told Wade that he didn’t need permission to… oh. When Dennie replayed the words in his head, he realized he had only said Wade didn’t need permission to put _on_ his seatbelt or to take other _safety measures_ ; taking off the seatbelt didn’t really fall into either of those buckets, did it, so Wade must have thought it fell into the “don’t do it” category that encompassed everything else tonight.

This confirmed what Dennie had suspected for a while: Wade’s fear of failing and displeasing his Dom paralyzed him, and this was what had prevented him from having a successful arrangement with anyone at Frau Lick. He followed direct orders to a T, not inferring or assuming a thing; and when he didn’t have an exactly direct order to rely on, like when he was told to ‘keep still’ at the bar that first time, his mind wandered, wondering whether he’d missed something, if there was something more he should be doing that his Dom hadn’t thought to mention.

So Dennie understood why the other Doms at Frau Lick struggled with Wade. He needed a Dom willing to take the time to spell out for Wade exactly what he needed to do—all the time, every time, in a clear and complete fashion. Giving unambiguous directions was a harder task than most people realized: in conversation, people’s brains filled in so many of the blanks without people even knowing it was happening. (Wade was decidedly bad at that.) And it was so easy to get irritated with a partner who didn't, or couldn't, respond to the cues that most everyone else thought were obvious. Though all BDSM relationships required a certain level of trust between participants, Wade needed something more than mere trust: he needed to be able to wholly and completely rely on his Dom to spell out everything he needed to do to please him without getting frustrated or upset or tossing him aside. Dennie couldn’t think of many Doms at Frau Lick who would have the mettle or patience for such a task, to be honest. Frau Lick was rough around the edges, far more suited for rough physical play than the type of intense, firm caretaking that Wade needed.

Luckily for Wade, Dennie’s brand of dominance was a great match for Wade’s needs.

“You can remove your seatbelt and step out of the car, dear,” Dennie permitted, and Wade did so. Wade then waited for Dennie to crook his finger before following him into the house. “Take off your shoes, and then I’ll give you the mini-tour.” Wade put his shoes in the entryway near where Dennie had sloughed off his boots, and then trailed along behind through the house. The bottom floor of Dennie’s home was all one open space—the entryway opened straight up into the dining area, with a kitchen off to the left and a living room off to the right. The downstairs bathroom was behind the kitchen right off the laundry room. “It’s not much,” Dennie said to fill the empty space. Dennie pointed to the narrow set of stairs in the far corner of the living room that led upstairs. “My bedroom and the spare are up there, and another bathroom. They’re all tiny though. We’ll head up there later. Why don’t you take off your coat, hang it on the rack by the front door, and then go sit down on the couch? Would you like coffee? It’s late, but I plan to keep you up for a couple more hours, so caffeine might help.”

“I’ll drink whatever, I don’t care,” Wade muttered, spinning to obey the instruction about the coat and then practically jogging to the couch.

Well, Dennie had brought that on himself, hadn’t he? “Let me phrase it differently. I’m going to make you a cup of coffee. Unless you prefer decaf, it’s going to have caffeine in it. Tell me if this is a problem.”

“It’s not a problem, sir.”

“Thank you.” Dennie puttered for a few minutes with the pour-over, which was the fastest coffee-making method he had—he didn’t want Wade to spend too awfully long spiraling on the couch. He brought two steaming mugs of coffee and set them on the coffee table. “Cream and sugar?”

“No thanks.”

Wade was curled up in one of the corners of the couch, so Dennie took his coffee and sat on the other end, putting a healthy amount of space between them. Wade didn’t reach for his coffee though. He was really taking his orders seriously. “You can drink it,” Dennie stated.

Wade nodded and picked up his cup, then drank for a second before setting it back down on the table. “It’s good. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Dennie took a quick sip before saying, “Wade, you’ve done an excellent job tonight.”

Wade startled. “What—what are you talking about? Literally nothing has happened yet.”

“Exactly so. You’ve been extremely diligent about following my order not to do anything unless I tell you to. I’m proud of you.”

Wade averted his gaze. “Sorry. I must seem like such a needy shit. You must have felt so annoyed when you had to tell me to take off my own goddamned seatbelt. I’m sorry. I should be able to figure these things out on my own.”

The degree of self-flagellation in Wade’s response wasn’t necessarily shocking in an abstract sense, but Dennie had to admit to a bit of surprise that Wade had so utterly misinterpreted what he’d thought had been fairly high praise. “Wade, did you even hear what I said? I said I was proud of you. I’m happy you waited to take off your seatbelt until I told you you could—that was exactly what I told you to do.”

Wade shrugged and continued staring off to the side. Dennie gave up on maintaining an appropriate distance—he plopped his coffee next to Wade’s on the coffee table and resettled so that he was near enough to grab Wade’s chin and force eye contact. This was becoming all too common with them, wasn’t it? “Part of following my orders, Wade, is listening to exactly what I say to you, isn’t it? I said nothing about being annoyed or about you needing to apologize or ‘figure these things out’ on your own. I definitely never called you a ‘needy shit,’ Wade, because I would never say such a terrible thing to you.” Dennie couldn’t keep a bit of hardness out of his voice. “I’m adding a new rule; more of a subset to the other rules, really. Stop reading things into my words that aren’t what I said. I’ll never tell you something and mean something else. Do you understand?”

“I…”

No, Wade definitely didn’t understand yet. And it wasn’t something Dennie could bully him into believing. The only way Wade would get it is if Dennie was patient enough with him to prove that Dennie could be trusted. “It’s okay,” Dennie soothed, moderating his tone. “I know this is difficult for you.”

“I really would understand if you wanted me to go home. I won’t take offense, I promise.”

“If I wanted you to go home, wouldn’t I have said so?”

“I guess, sir.”

“Try, ‘I know, sir.’ There’s no need to guess with me, remember?”

Wade swallowed and cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir. I meant, I know that if you wanted me to go home, you would say so.”

“And since I haven’t asked you to go home…?”

“It means you don’t want me to go home,” Wade finished dutifully.

“Good boy,” Dennie praised, rubbing one hand up and down Wade’s bicep in a way that he hoped felt comforting. “You’ll get a reward tonight for your obedience.”

“Even though—” Wade cut himself off.

“Yes, even though you have still have a punishment on the docket for talking at the bar.” Dennie was gratified that Wade seemed relieved his punishment was still coming. “I’ll give you fifteen hand spanks for that, clothed. I’m starting out light because I’m not familiar with how your body will react yet,” Dennie clarified at Wade’s hurt look, “and because your infraction was minor and in response to stress. Come lay over my lap, sweetheart.”

Wade scrambled to obey, and soon enough he was lying flat on his stomach across the couch with his pelvis in Dennie’s lap. Dennie rubbed his hand over the seat of Wade’s tight black jeans, which made Wade shiver. Excellent.

Dennie started with a medium smack, knowing Wade’s pants would cushion the blow.

“One.”

Dennie frowned. “Sweetheart… do I need to add five more?”

Wade twisted his head around, looking stricken. “For what?”

“I didn’t tell you to count.”

Wade’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. It must just be habit. I’ve never not counted. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not angry, but I don’t want you following other Doms’ commands in my house. I am going to add five more for you doing something you weren't told to do, just to make it sink in a bit.” Dennie landed the second smack, a little harder that time, and Wade obediently refrained from counting. Dennie continued the spanking, alternating between slapping the meat of Wade’s cheeks and the junction of his thighs. By the time Dennie got to fifteen, Dennie was a little perturbed that Wade hadn’t made any sound—it wasn’t a hard spanking by any means, but Wade had been completely silent. “Darling, I have a question for you,” Dennie said, resting his hand on Wade’s bum. “Is there a reason you’re not making any noise?”

Wade hitched his breath. “It… I thought I wasn’t supposed to do anything…”

Dennie had to repress a sigh—he was mostly angry with himself for not figuring it out more quickly. “I am sorry I didn’t make it clear to you before. I told you that you were free to speak. In my mind, that included making other types of noises too. That doesn’t mean you _have_ to, if it doesn’t hurt that bad,” Dennie added belatedly.

“S-sorry. I understand now.”

Dennie started on the five extra spanks, and Wade wasn’t quite as quiet as he was before. He didn’t cry out, but he allowed himself some sharp exhalations. “All done,” Dennie said when he’d finished the twentieth.

Wade shot up like a jackrabbit, launching himself off Dennie’s lap and back into his corner of the couch—right onto his spanked bum, and though it wasn’t a particularly strenuous spanking, that still can’t have felt that nice. “Thank you, sir, for helping me correct my mistakes,” Wade recited formally. He must have learned it from someone, and Dennie would need to address it eventually if he said it again. But there were more important matters to resolve at the present moment.

“Wade. I just gave you twenty spanks for breaking this rule,” Dennie admonished.

Wade couldn’t possibly have looked more crestfallen. “S-sir! What did I do?”

Dennie frowned, injecting as much firmness as he could into his expression and crossing his arms in what he knew was a stern, boy-cowering way. “You moved when I didn’t tell you to move.”

“S-sir, you said… you said, ‘All done.’” Wade looked close to tears.

“And in what part of those two words did you hear, ‘Now it’s time to move’?”

The tears were gushing out steadily now. “Oh God. I’m unteachable.”

Dennie did sigh aloud that time. “Wade. Come here. Lay across my lap just as you were.”

Wade shuffled forward and resumed the position. But he buried his head into the cushion below this time to hide his anguish. 

“I’m going to give you five more, little one, to remind you of the rule again. Then what are you going to do?”

Wade had to turn his head to respond. “W-wait until you tell me to move.”

“Exactly right. Not so unteachable, hm?” Dennie grinned, trying to cheer him up. Wade just turned his face back into the couch cushion.

Dennie finished the spanking quickly, and this time, when he said ‘All done,’ Wade tensed: as if in preparation for the order. “Wade, I am going to rub your bum a bit, to take out some of the sting,” Dennie stated. Then he did just that. But Wade was strung tight as a crossbow. He turned his head to watch Dennie, and there were tear tracks down his cheeks, but he didn’t have the feel of a boy freshly spanked: there was no looseness, no lightness. It was like Wade didn’t believe the punishment was over and was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Had Dennie not been harsh enough?

“Sweetheart, it’s over—you’re forgiven,” Dennie tried to console. But he saw Wade twitch—the words had made Wade almost move, again! At least he restrained himself that time. Dennie did not want to punish Wade anymore tonight, not when he was in this precarious state. He had to admit, though, that it did nothing for his ego that Wade plainly wanted to be as far away from him as possible. “Please darling, will you just tell me why you’re so eager to get out of my lap?”

“Spanking’s over. Can’t—can’t take up too much time."

“… Do you have somewhere to be?” Dennie asked, genuinely confused.

“N-no. It’s just, it’s late. You’re tired. I keep fucking up and making you spank me more. I swear, it’s not on purpose! I’d never b-brat on purpose just to get attention. I swear. I didn’t mean to make this take so long.”

For the first time that night, Dennie felt genuine anger—not at Wade, but at whoever it was that had made him feel like it was a requirement to vacate the premises the very second a spanking concluded without a hint of aftercare. “I don’t think you’re ‘bratting on purpose,’ and I’m not in any rush, dear. I want to sit here for a few minutes and hold you so that I can show you you’re forgiven. Will you sit up so you can sit in my lap?”

Wade hesitated, which spoke volumes given that he wasn’t one to hesitate at a direct order. “Are you sure? I don’t need to, really. I promise.”

“You have five seconds before I consider it disobedience, boy.”

That got Wade moving, and exactly four and a half seconds later, Wade was sitting with his back against Dennie’s chest. His hands rested on his thighs and his feet laid primly on the floor. It wasn’t precisely the relaxed pose that Dennie had hoped for. “Let’s change the position,” Dennie announced. “Sit up for a sec…” Dennie scooted until he abutted the arm of the couch, then beckoned Wade to return. “Lean your back up against the armrest, feet up on the cushion next to me. There you go. Perfect, darling.” Dennie wrapped his arm around Wade’s shoulders and drew him in closer. Wade hesitated before leaning his temple against Dennie’s shoulder.

* * *

Wade was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any moment now, Mr. Henderson’s mood would shift, right? His arm was heavy and warm around Wade’s shoulder. The side of Wade’s face buzzed where it rested against Mr. Henderson’s shirt. Mr. Henderson smelled nice—woodsy and clean.

This sort of thing didn’t happen to boys like Wade. Needy, clingy little boys like him got shoved onto the floor and yelled at for asking to be coddled after a well-deserved punishment. Especially when he’d been a terror to Mr. Henderson all night and the spanking had been barely a lovetap in comparison to some of the impact scenes he’d acted out with Stefan lately—and literally nothing like one of Mr. Crenshaw’s extended belt sessions. Surely Mr. Henderson didn’t think Wade _deserved_ such tender treatment…?

Oh! The answer was suddenly clear. Mr. Henderson had said before that Wade had deserved a reward for his earlier obedience, hadn’t he? Wade still didn’t believe that, but, the only thing that made sense is that this was the reward. Of course, he’d never been given such an extravagant reward before for anything—but Mr. Henderson was a kind person. If anyone could think a fuck-up like Wade merited this sort of treatment, it was Mr. Henderson.

The silence grew more comfortable after that. Wade relaxed a bit more into Mr. Henderson’s shoulder, allowing the man’s soothing scent to wash over him. Mr. Henderson’s hand rubbed little circles into the nape of his neck, which Wade liked. His fingers were long, rough, a bit calloused. Wade liked the sensation of them against his skin. His butt throbbed a bit where it connected with Mr. Henderson’s thighs, but Wade didn’t mind the pain at all.

“You smell nice,” Mr. Henderson muttered absently.

“Oh. You do too, sir. Like a forest or something.”

The man chuckled before lapsing back into silence. Wade never wanted this to end—Mr. Henderson was so close and warm and solid. They sat there for at least fifteen comfortable minutes before Mr. Henderson shifted a bit underneath him. “I get these aches sometimes,” Mr. Henderson admitted. “All part of the aging process.”

Wade almost got off Mr. Henderson’s lap upon finding out he was causing him pain, but the sting in his butt reminded him that he’d already been punished for doing things without Mr. Henderson’s say-so. “Sir, should I move?”

Mr. Henderson grimaced—a spasm? “Ah. Sorry kid, but yeah.”

Wade tried not to be disappointed that his reward was cut short. It had been far more than he’d ever expected. Wade shimmied forward so that he was sitting next to Mr. Henderson on the couch. Mr. Henderson flashed him a small grin, and Wade was happy enough to smile back. “Thank you, sir! That was the best reward ever.”

Then the grin on Mr. Henderson’s face faltered. Anxiety shot through Wade: what had he done now? Mr. Henderson had said he was allowed to talk even if he wasn’t allowed to do anything else. Maybe Mr. Henderson had changed his mind…? Wade was about to start apologizing when Mr. Henderson said, “Sweetheart, that wasn’t your reward.”

Wade cocked his head in confusion. “What was it, then?”

“It was aftercare.”

Wade wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the concept. Stefan, who’d been into heavy impact play, had always rubbed a cream on his wounds after every session and made him drink water and sometimes even put his arms around Wade’s shoulders—the whole nine yards. But Wade had never had aftercare after a _real_ punishment before. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“In what way?”

“It felt…nice. So now I’ll be incentivized to get in trouble again.” Wade held up his hands, though, and stammered out, “I’d never actually get in trouble on purpose, of course!”

“Two flaws with your logic,” Mr. Henderson countered. “One: You can have a cuddle like that anytime you want, so there’s no need for you to get in trouble to get it.” As if to prove it, Mr. Henderson wrapped his arm around Wade’s shoulder and pulled him into his side. “There. Now we can cuddle as long as we want without me getting any muscle pains.”

Wade tentatively leaned against Mr. Henderson. His heart pounded into his chest. When was the last time anyone had held him for this long? Had anyone ever? Wade couldn’t think of any time.

“Now, two: as nice as you feel now, I know you, Wade—you were torn to pieces each time you disobeyed me tonight, and that had nothing to do with the spanking.”

“Well, I was bad,” Wade mumbled, not knowing how else to respond. He’d certainly deserved all he got.

“No. You weren’t bad. You were just unsure. You and I are getting to know each other and how we communicate, is all. You’ve done a wonderful job tonight.” Then Mr. Henderson used his free hand to angle Wade’s cheek towards him, and before Wade could comprehend what was happening, Mr. Henderson was _kissing him?!?_

Wade couldn’t help but respond. Mr. Henderson’s salt-and-pepper stubble abraded Wade’s comparatively smoother cheeks and his tongue probed the seam of Wade’s lips. Wade opened easily and let Mr. Henderson take over the kiss; Mr. Henderson used his tongue like a small cock, fucking Wade’s mouth. Oh God, Wade wanted him to fuck his mouth with his actual cock. All he could do for now was cling to the front of Mr. Henderson’s shirt and hold on for the ride.

When they finally split apart for air, Wade was dazed. “Mr. Henderson… was… was that my reward, then?”

“No,” Mr. Henderson responded, sounding bewildered. “Of course not. I just felt like giving you a kiss.”

Wade didn’t really understand. The punishment had just ended, and Wade had truly been obnoxious all night, so Wade didn’t get why Mr. Henderson felt like kissing him. But Wade could sense that Mr. Henderson was starting to get frustrated. It was time to stop talking now. “Oh. Sorry. I’ll stop asking about the reward.” He must sound pretty greedy at this point. The reward was probably off the table by now.

“Since it seems to be causing you a little anxiety, I’ll tell you now that your reward is that I’m going to take you upstairs to my bedroom and give you a full body massage. Underwear remaining _on_.”

Wade furrowed his brow as he picked the words apart in his head. What did Mr. Henderson mean by a ‘full body massage’? Wade would have been sure it was a euphemism for fucking, but Mr. Henderson had said he wouldn’t be taking off his underwear. Oh dear Lord, was Mr. Henderson talking about flogging? Nothing else made sense. But Wade didn’t really like being hit. He’d only stayed with Stefan—Frau Lick’s most talented flogger and whip-wielder—as long as he had because Stefan had been sort of funny and liked to take him out for ice cream. “Sir,” Wade began, wondering how to say this. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I just. Um. I mean, if it’s all the same to you, if this ‘massage’ is meant to be a reward, maybe we could do something else instead? I could give you a blowjob. I’m pretty good at that.” Wade thought there wasn’t a man in the world who’d ever turned down a blowjob. And Wade would like it too.

But Mr. Henderson shook his head, and Wade’s hopes wilted. “I don’t want to do anything sexual beyond kissing and touching tonight,” Mr. Henderson explained.

“Oh.” Wade didn’t know what to make of that. He’d thought Mr. Henderson wanted that from him, but it seemed not. Was Mr. Henderson not attracted to him at all? “Okay. Well, I’m sort of pooped, so um, maybe we can take a raincheck on the reward—”

“Goodness gracious, boy, you’re talking circles around the issue. You’re anxious about something. Just tell me straight out what it is.”

“It’s just. I mean, I know I was with Stefan for a bit, so you probably have formed certain, uh, conceptions about the things I like to do. But it's not... I didn't really _like_ the impact play stuff with him, per se... it was more just something I tolerated... not that I don’t appreciate your offer or anything, I promise.”

It was Mr. Henderson’s turn to look at him like he was an alien. It gave Wade a squirmy, uncomfortable feeling. “I have to say, kid, I’m usually pretty good at reading people but I can't quite figure you out at the moment.”

“That’s fine,” Wade stammered. “I’m just being stupid. I should probably head home. You’re tired.”

Wade squeaked when Mr. Henderson’s fingers descended into his hair and _pulled, that fucking hurt!_ “I thought I had said it enough times, but it really hasn’t sunk in yet, has it? I haven’t said I’m tired. I haven’t said you should head home. I haven’t said you’re stupid. Did I or did I not just spank you for this very infraction?”

Wade gulped. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that, sir,” he mumbled.

“Then what were you thinking about it as?” Mr. Henderson’s grip loosened slightly, enough to relieve the most immediate stinging pressure, but his hand was still solidly locked in Wade’s curls. Wade wanted to look away but Mr. Henderson wasn’t letting him.

“I was just trying to give you an easy out since I’m showing more of my nutcase with each passing second,” Wade admitted.

“And what was the fuss about impact play?”

Wade felt his heart sink as he finally realized his error: Mr. Henderson had said he would give Wade a full body massage, and instead of taking that at face value, Wade had assumed he must have really _meant_ something different. “I misinterpreted what you meant by massage,” Wade admitted in a small voice. (A tiny bit of defiance raged within; no one had ever given Wade a real massage before! Certainly no Dom had ever offered him something like that as a reward. Could Wade really be blamed for assuming Mr. Henderson wanted to hurt him?)

“Jesus,” Mr. Henderson sighed. Then he frowned: oh golly, he was _not_ pleased. “Sweetheart,” he started, but then he cut himself off with another sigh. Wade bit his bottom lip. If he offered to go home again, Mr. Henderson would get even more angry. He surely wasn’t in the mood to keep punishing him. He was probably about to tell Wade to go home. Maybe Wade would get lucky and Mr. Henderson would offer to see him again and take care of it later. The worst outcome would be if Mr. Henderson gave up and sent Wade home unpunished—he’d had some Doms do that. Though the guilt from those instances had mostly faded, they still twinged on occasion. Wade liked Mr. Henderson more than those other Doms, too, so he figured this failure would sting for a while.

“Alright, I’ve decided something,” Mr. Henderson finally stated. “I went too easy on you before; I was hesitant to take things too far for your first punishment. But that wasn’t fair to you. All signs point to that you _can_ take a far worse beating than those measly twenty-five spanks, but more importantly, that something more severe is necessary to make your punishment sink in. What I want is to paddle you, hard enough that you won’t be able to sit down, so that for the rest of tonight and most of tomorrow you will have the pain to remind you of my rules. I didn’t ask you earlier if paddling was a limit.”

Wade could scarcely believe it. Mr. Henderson was going to punish him, right now! “It’s not a limit, sir,” Wade said, squaring his shoulders.

“I want to take your pants and your underwear down as well. Is that a limit?”

“No, sir.”

Then Mr. Henderson stood, and he pulled Wade up right along with him by the hair. Then he snapped open the button on Wade’s jeans and pushed them and Wade’s boxer-briefs down. Wade’s penis was soft, but Mr. Henderson wasn’t looking; he pulled Wade by the hair to the outside of the couch and then directed Wade to lean over the back. It was a humiliating position—his pants and briefs hobbled him around the ankles and his ass was on full display. Mr. Henderson pulled Wade’s shirt up a bit to move it out of the line of fire. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get the paddle. Do not break position.”

Mr. Henderson returned a moment later, and he held the paddle up in front of Wade’s eyes. It was a nasty looking fucker—it was made of shiny silver metal and it had _holes_. Wade gulped.

“This is my worst paddle,” Mr. Henderson said, coming around the couch and rubbing the cold metal along Wade’s bottom. “You said you don’t like impact play. I’m taking that to heart. This is not a punishment I want you to like in any respect.” Mr. Henderson continued trailing the tool across Wade’s naked thighs. “You’re a special kid,” Mr. Henderson stated gruffly. “You need a fairly firm hand, don’t you? To keep you feeling safe.”

Wade bit his lip but didn’t respond. He didn’t safeword, though.

“Don’t you dare count. Don’t you dare move. Do you understand the rules? What is the one thing I’ve allowed you to do when you’re being punished?”

Wade thought back to earlier, but it was a bit hard to focus. “Uh, ah… make, um, noise?” Wade guessed.

“Exactly.” Mr. Henderson punctuated that statement with the first brutal clout with the mean paddle, and Wade couldn’t have held back his keening cry even if he’d been ordered to. “All you need to do now, Wade, is _listen_ to what I say to you.” Another resounding slap, and Wade squealed. “I don’t speak just to hear the sound of my own voice. I speak to convey”— _smack!_ —“information”— _smack!_ —“to the people around me!”

Wade clutched the couch cushions with a death-like grip—otherwise his hands were going to fly back of their own volition! “I’m so sorry,” he gasped out.

“I know you are.” Another horrible spank—this one lower, in a new spot that hadn’t been hit yet. “You’ve got a bad habit, darling. You know what it is?” Mr. Henderson laid the full length of the cool metal along Wade’s burning backside. Wade didn’t know if he was supposed to respond. “Scratch that,” Mr. Henderson murmured. “I am ordering you to tell me what your bad habit is darling.”

More tears came out, unbidden. Wade felt like a complete failure as the words tumbled forth. “I'm always assuming you mean one thing when you’ve actually said something else!” Wade hadn’t even realized he’d understood the problem until the words were already out of his mouth.

“Very good.” _Smack!_ Oh dear Jesus in heaven, this was excruciating. The paddle returned to rest against his butt—even that pressure hurt a lot now. “And why don’t I want you to do that?”

“Because you don’t say things just to hear the sound of your own voice,” Wade dutifully responded back.

“Good.” Another hit with the horrible paddle. Was he ever going to stop? Wade was worried his butt was going to fall off. “Why else?”

Wade hitched his breath and furiously reviewed the evening. It was hard to think, and nothing was popping up. “Um, it’s, uh, disrespectful?” he tried. He braced himself for the next hit, but it didn’t come.

“Well, that may be true, but it’s not what I’m getting at.” Mr. Henderson rubbed his free, warm hand over Wade’s throbbing ass. “C’mon, darling. Think about it. Why would it make me angry that you keep responding to things I haven’t said and ignoring the things I have said? I won’t give you another spank with this paddle until you’ve answered me properly, by the way.”

God, Mr. Henderson just knew exactly who Wade was, didn’t he? Mr. Henderson was completely aware that his threat of cutting off the punishment midstream was far worse than any threat he could have made about continuing it. Mr. Henderson understood somehow that Wade craved this horrible pain, not because he was a masochist like Stefan had thought at first, but because he _wasn’t_. Because the awful, agonizing ache of a spanking reminded him that someone cared enough to give it.

“Oh God, Mr. Henderson, I’m trying to think of the answer,” Wade babbled. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m scared I’ll get it wrong and you’ll send me home without finishing. Please help me.”

One of Mr. Henderson’s hands found its way to his hair, where it softly petted him. “You can always ask for help, dear one. I’ll give you a hint. It’s about what pleases me. I told you earlier tonight. Do you remember?”

And suddenly Wade did remember: _‘It doesn’t make me happy for you to decide on your own how you can be useful and pleasing when I’ve already told you what I want from you.’_ “I can’t decide on my own what pleases you!” Wade gasped out.

Mr. Henderson landed another glorious, hideous smack with the accursed metal paddle across the middle of his backside. “Very good, my dear. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed. When I tell you something, I expect you to listen to what I’m saying. You can’t superimpose your own guesses onto my words, because then you’re not really submitting to my authority, now are you? You’re submitting to someone else—to yourself and your projections.”

“I understand,” Wade cried, his breath coming in short, thready bursts.

Mr. Henderson clouted him again with the paddle. “There’s one more reason I’m punishing you, sweetheart. But you don’t need to guess it. I’m paddling you so I can request your full submission.”

 _Huh_? But Mr. Henderson didn’t seem to need his response.

“I’ve been watching you for years at this point, my sweet,” Mr. Henderson stated softly, rubbing the paddle gently up Wade’s back, poking saucily under his shirt and then withdrawing. Then Mr. Henderson angled the paddle to rest lightly on Wade’s face—he didn’t hit him with it there (and Wade was pretty sure he’d never do that), but Mr. Henderson did tap the paddle threateningly against his cheek. It was scary, and dominant, and the objectifying gesture appealed to all of Wade’s baser instincts. “You are so eager to please, but that makes you so anxious, and it breaks my heart. I bet you’ve never gone to subspace, have you dearest? Too worried about getting things right to let yourself relax and be yourself. Well, you won’t ever need to worry about getting things right with me because I’ll never let you get it wrong. You won’t need to wonder if you’re pleasing me because you’ll know: all you have to do, dearest, is everything I tell you, and nothing but.”

“B-but I did really bad at that tonight,” Wade mumbled.

“And it might be a challenge for a while yet,” Mr. Henderson acknowledged. “You have to unlearn what might be lifelong habits that you’ve no doubt built up as survival mechanisms, and dearest, when you’re ready to tell me what it is that you survived, I’ll be there to hold you and kiss you as much as you want. But I won’t lie: I’m a harsh Da- Dom. I was serious about never letting you get anything wrong with me: I won’t let you get away with breaking my rules or disobeying my orders, ever. Sometimes I’ll scold you, sometimes I’ll make you write lines, and sometimes I’ll beat your ass black and blue like I’m about to do right now. You may feel discouraged at points. But I promise you, Wade, that I won’t give up on you. I’ll take away your anxiety; bring you to subspace; bring you peace. Do you accept?”

Wade couldn’t speak. Snot streamed out of his nose and onto the couch in front of him. Wade nodded against the paddle.

“I need you to say it out loud, dearest. Consent to me.”

“I…I consent.”

“To what?”

“To your orders,” Wade cried. “And to your rules and to your spankings and to doing everything you tell me to, and nothing but! Please. Let me try to submit to you. I’m no good at it but I trust that you won’t let me fail.”

That appeared to be enough for Mr. Henderson, who began paddling Wade in earnest. His smacks from just a few minutes ago seemed like light caresses in comparison. Mr. Henderson didn’t stop now to lecture anymore; the paddling became a brutal, silent beating. It was far more physically painful than even Mr. Crenshaw’s worst belting.

But Wade wasn’t sad like he’d always been during a Crenshaw belting. Tears were dripping down his cheeks, for sure, and the pain was causing nausea to curdle in his belly, but a soft feeling had come over him that he couldn’t describe. No one had ever hit him this hard, but no one had ever hit him like this, either. Wade felt a deep sense of rightness; that Mr. Henderson was hurting him because he cared about him. Mr. Henderson wouldn’t bother with this sort of punishment if he didn’t. Mr. Henderson wasn’t doing this to slake his own urges, but to _fix_ Wade. No one had ever thought Wade was worth fixing before.

The remaining paddling seemed to last for hours. (It was likely only for ten minutes or so, but even that was a particularly severe beating with this particularly evil paddle.) Wade had gone limp at some point during the assault, but Mr. Henderson had just kept going. Wade made awful, humiliating noises, but he never asked Mr. Henderson to stop. And finally, when Mr. Henderson’s arm seemed to tire, he dragged the paddle back to Wade’s face. Pressed it up against Wade’s lips. “Kiss it,” he commanded roughly.

It didn’t even occur to Wade to disobey. Kissing the paddle that Mr. Henderson had just destroyed him with felt like the rightest choice he could make. Wade pressed his lips to the middle, where the paddle was warm from friction, and chastely pecked it. Wade’s mind scrambled for the right thing to say to somehow convey the depth of his gratitude, but his brain was in tatters. “The paddle’s hot,” he slurred.

Mr. Henderson chuckled, and Wade felt his coarse hand scratching lightly through his hair. “Good. If it wasn’t, I’d know I needed to keep going.”

Wade realized he was a bit uncomfortable with his belly wedged over the couch like this. He wanted to move, but Mr. Henderson hadn’t said to move. Mr. Henderson would move him when he felt ready. Wade relaxed a bit—the all-encompassing burn on his butt and thighs reminded him that he didn’t need to worry about it. Everything would happen when Mr. Henderson wanted it to. And it would _please_ Mr. Henderson if Wade let it happen on Mr. Henderson’s schedule.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite young enough to bridal style you up to my room,” Mr. Henderson apologized. “I’m going to help you walk up the stairs so you can lie down.”

“Kay, sir.” Wade let Mr. Henderson lift his upper body until he was on his feet. His legs felt like jelly. “M-might fall.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Mr. Henderson was right. It was slow going, but every time Wade faltered, Mr. Henderson’s arms were there, holding him up. As the adrenaline began to wear off, the pain in his backside started to increase in urgency. On the fifth stair out of ten, Wade burst into an uncontrolled bout of sobs.

“Oh, dear heart,” Mr. Henderson said, wrapping Wade up and caging him in with his hand on the back of Wade’s head. “Just a few more steps and you can lie down and I’ll bring something for the pain.”

“It’s not that,” Wade choked out brokenly. “I dunno what it is.”

“It is the pain,” Mr. Henderson countered dryly, “combined with all the other huge emotions you’ve felt today, all coming out at once.”

Somehow Wade managed to let himself be led up the rest of the steps, and then Mr. Henderson directed him into a small, cozy bedroom with a queen-sized bed, which looked insanely comfortable with a flannel comforter and several thick, feathery pillows. “Lie down, dear heart; I’ll be right back with the medicine.”

“Wait!” Wade grabbed Mr. Henderson’s sleeve to arrest his movement. He’d never grabbed a Dom so forcefully before. “P-please. Help me. I don’t want to get it wrong.”

Mr. Henderson cocked his head in confusion, but then a light seemed to click. “Dearest, you’re a very brave boy, asking for what you need. You can—and should—always ask for clarification of my orders if you’re unsure what I mean. In this case, when I told you to lie down, I meant for you to lie down on your stomach. Even I wouldn’t be cruel enough to make you lie on your back or side right now.”

Wade nodded, his eyes stuck to the ground. He didn’t release Mr. Henderson’s shirt, but then he felt guilty at his clinginess and abruptly stepped back. Mr. Henderson was trying to leave the room! “S-sorry, sir.”

“For?”

“Clinging.”

Mr. Henderson seized Wade’s chin—he seemed to like grabbing it, and somehow, Wade liked Mr. Henderson grabbing it too—and forced Wade to look up. “You never need to apologize for that. Most especially not after such an intense punishment.” Mr. Henderson pressed a kiss into Wade’s curls and then helped him over to the bed. He helped Wade pull off his shirt and lie down on his stomach on top of the flannel blanket. (Wade was on a cloud, he was fairly sure.) “I’ll be gone just a second, sweets.”

Wade was conscious, but he felt a bit strange, like he wasn’t quite all the way in his body. It was better when Mr. Henderson came back. The man sat on the edge of the bed next to him and made him drink some water, and then dabbed some sort of lotion with a eucalyptus scent onto his bottom and thighs. He was barely even grazing the welts, but it still hurt something fierce.

After finishing that, Mr. Henderson started to rub that same lotion over Wade’s back and gently pressed it in. “S-sir?” Wade hadn’t thought he’d been hit there.

“Relax, sweetheart. This is your reward, remember? Your massage.”

Wade moaned as Mr. Henderson pushed and pressed against his back muscles, sore and throbbing from how long he’d been bent in that uncomfortable position over the couch. “Y’ don’ haveta,” Wade tried to decline, but Mr. Henderson kept going. “Oh, God.”

“Feels good?”

Wade tried to say yes. But all he could manage was a dopey little smile before he dozed off to sleep.

* * *

The sight of Wade’s bruised buttocks in the morning made Dennie feel a little guilty. Purple and black splotches mottled his chestnut backside—it was one of the harshest paddlings that Dennie had ever doled out.

Wade crashed hard, sleeping well through breakfast and not waking up until around 1:30pm. Dennie felt guilty, too, that he’d failed to ask Wade the night before whether he had any responsibilities today. It was Sunday, and Wade was a paralegal, so Dennie was fairly sure he didn’t have to go to work, but Dennie had pretty much incapacitated him for any activities whatsoever for at least today, if not tomorrow. Christ, Dennie hoped the kid didn’t have to take a sick day tomorrow.

Dennie stayed in his bedroom to watch over the sleeping Wade throughout the morning. His breathing was even and placid. For all Dennie’s remorse, triumph was his predominant emotion: Wade had truly wanted and needed this, and Dennie had been well-equipped to give it. His body’s relaxation was testimony to the cathartic effect of the punishment. Dennie would bet that Wade hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

When Wade’s eyes finally fluttered open, Dennie saw the beginnings of a panic swirl until Wade finally recognized Dennie. “M-Mr. Henderson?” he croaked out, about to roll himself over onto his back.

“Don’t move.” Dennie set down his book and reached over to palm Wade’s face proprietarily. He couldn’t resist brushing his thumb over Wade’s lips. “You’re in a great deal of pain. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“May I please use the bathroom?” Wade asked hoarsely.

“Yes, but don’t move yet. I’ll help you up, and then you can walk.”

Wade patiently waited as Dennie got out of bed and came around to the other side to help him up. “Thank you, sir,” Wade muttered through a yawn once he was on his feet. Dennie helped Wade pull on one of Dennie’s old T-shirts and a pair of loose boxers—Wade’s bar clothes would not have been comfortable. Dennie assessed Wade’s movements and noted with concern that his legs were alarmingly trembly. “I’m going to assist you into the bathroom, alright dear?”

Wade didn’t protest. Dennie helped Wade cross the hallway, and then left him to his business, admonishing him to call for help if anything hurt. “I’m going downstairs to make you lunch. But don’t come down yourself. Call me when you’re ready and I’ll come back up and help you.”

About ten minutes later, Dennie heard the unmistakable sound of Wade’s bare feet patter into the kitchen. He turned from his sandwich prep and said, “Didn’t I tell you to yell for me?”

Wade shivered and pointed at his throat. “S-sorry, sir,” he whispered. “I tried.”

Ah, hell. “Come here, sweetheart.” Wade came, and he looked fearful. Dennie took him into his arms, cradling Wade’s head up against his shoulders. “You’re alright. I’m not mad. Let’s get you some water and heal up that pretty throat of yours, hm?”

Wade nodded gratefully and let Dennie position him in front of the breakfast bar. “Lean on that,” Dennie commanded. “And if you start to feel too trembly to hold yourself up, tell me.”

“Yes, sir.” Wade did as ordered and leaned his elbows onto the breakfast bar, letting his weight sink into the counter. Dennie brought over a glass of water and made Wade take a few sips. Wade, his voice still crackly, said, “I feel kind of funny.”

“In what way?”

“Like. I’m all light. And relaxed. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Dennie brushed some of the hair out of Wade’s face. The poor boy needed a shower. “You’ve never felt the catharsis of a true punishment, is that what you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been punished loads of times,” Wade said offhandedly—he was far more open when he was still coming down from a paddling!—“but I never felt like, happy and shit afterwards.”

“What types of punishments were those?” Dennie asked, purposefully keeping his tone light.

“Oh, beltings, canings, all that kind of thing,” Wade revealed. “That was back when I was a boy, though.”

Dennie couldn’t help reacting to that. He raised his eyebrow and said, “When you _were_ a boy?”

“I’m just a submissive now,” Wade explained. He started coughing, then, so Dennie force-fed him more water. Wade drank for a moment before saying, “I wasn’t a very good boy. It’s why I got punished so much.”

It was on the tip of Dennie’s tongue: _you’re still a boy, my dear boy, and you're a very, very good one_. Dennie had suspected it forever, but last night, seeing how Wade had craved the spanking he knew he’d hate, and this morning, seeing Wade positively glow, had confirmed his suspicions that Wade wanted more than just a Dominant: he wanted a Daddy who would cherish him, discipline him, own him, and never, ever, let him go astray.

But something held him back from saying so: an inkling that Wade was running from this truth for a good reason and had been running from it for a long time, and that if Dennie confronted him with it head-on, he might well spook him. Whenever it was that Wade had been a ‘not very good' boy, whoever it was he’d treated as Daddy before, that relationship had fucked something up in Wade. Had made Wade compulsively fear failure and internalize his certainty that he was unworthy of smidgen of aftercare or affection.

But Dennie had all the time in the world to break down Wade’s walls. With enough patience, elbow grease, and love, Dennie was confident he was the Daddy who could exorcise those demons.

* * *

Dennie’s Rules for Wade:

“All you have to do, dearest, is everything I tell you, and nothing but.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is a standalone story for now, but I have some vague ideas for Dennie and Wade, so I may at some future point turn this into an extended series.
> 
> 8/2/20: Minor edit to end of chapter to lead in to future series.


End file.
